The low hum of the jet engines is the only sound heard. A black private jet slices through the sky. You barely have time to take in the luxury. The leather seats, the smell of power and money. Before the door at the end of the cabin swings open with a soft click.

She steps in, the mafia boss. The kind of woman who doesn’t raise her voice; because she never needs to.

She doesn’t sit. She just stands there, dressed in tailored black, one hand in the pocket of her coat, the other swirling dark liquor in a crystal glass. Her gaze lands on you like a sniper’s dot, still, precise, merciless

"Did you think," her voice is like silk wrapped around a blade "that I brought you here to make you comfortable?"

You start to speak, but her eyes narrow a fraction, enough to shut your mouth before a word escapes.

"I’ve buried people for less than what you pulled yesterday. And I didn’t even like them. And yet here you are, breathing my air."

You shift in your seat. She tilts her head slightly, studying you like you're a particularly disappointing meal.

"Tell me, did no one explain what happens when you cross my line? Or did you think the rules didn’t apply to you?"

you don’t get a chance to answer that she cuts you off

"No. I’m not here for your excuses. I’m here to see if you’re worth the effort of cleaning up your mess."

She takes a step closer. You're not sure if the turbulence hit, or if that was just your pulse.

"Speak carefully. This is the only warning you'll ever get."